


Memories

by vxctorvale



Category: Plague Doctor - Fandom, Майор Гром | Major Thunder, Майор Гром: Чумной Доктор | Major Grom: Plague Doctor (2021)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medical Trauma, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:40:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28370292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vxctorvale/pseuds/vxctorvale
Relationships: Chumnoy Doctor | Plague Doctor | Sergey Razumovsky & Oleg Volkov, Chumnoy Doctor | Plague Doctor | Sergey Razumovsky/Oleg Volkov
Kudos: 9





	Memories

Sergey loaded up the tray with the newly washed plates, about to put them back into the cupboard. He glanced at the plates, studying the pattern of leaves and flowers at the edges; they were just like the ones at…. At…. _Dammit._ What was the name of the orphanage? He couldn’t have forgotten that as well. He shook his head, closed his eyes, trying to piece the name. The orphanage. The name was… he didn’t remember if it was long or short…. It contained an “L” or “M” or….

Then he heard a loud crunch. Sergey hadn’t registered how he’d dropped the tray with the plates, now shattered and scattered across the floor. He crouched, extending his fingers to the shattered glass. It wasn’t something he did consciously; it was just his muscles following a set of commands, disregarding the owner’s will. Sergey looked at the glass, fingers tracing the shape of the crack on one of the pieces, his mind still reeling. _The name the name the name the name…. What was the damned name…_.

He grunted in frustration. _When will this end?_ Would it ever end?

He hadn’t noticed Oleg rush into the kitchen. Noticing things happening around him had become a challenge; the world kept escaping him, and the only place he found some solace in was his damaged mind. Even if the doctors claimed he could still regain what he once had, Sergey knew that was a dumb lie. He’d lost too much. He’d sacrificed too much. Hell, even what he had now he was grateful for. Grateful to one person. And him only.

“What is it?” Oleg asked, squatting near his partner.

“What?” Sergey looked at the man confused. A moment too late, recognition came back to him. “No, no it’s nothing.” he murmured, fidgeting with the glass. Why couldn’t he pull himself together? Why couldn’t he have picked up the mess he made quickly?

“Seryozh, come on.” Oleg tilted his head forward, meeting Sergey’s eyes. “I can see you’re upset. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Sergey jerked back, escaping Oleg’s proximity. “I don’t need a nanny that oversees my every step.” His voice rose. He knew Oleg was the last person he had any right to be angry with, yet he couldn’t stop himself. Words poured out like poison. “I don’t need you guarding me like a damned waterlily!” A shameless lie. For now.

He was always somehow losing himself. At this point, Sergey should have gotten used to it; his mind had rarely been exclusively his own. And when it was… it began shutting itself down. He wasn’t sure what exactly was causing this - Ptitza’s remnants or Kutkh’s, or it was just the cocktail of all the hallucinogens, nootropics and a dozen other types of drugs finally revealing their long overdue impact. Every time this cycle scarred him anew. Every memory and name and shape he couldn’t recall chipped and cracked him anew. But this was his own futile fight; no one had to assemble him back together, if he couldn’t do it himself.

“Alright, then tell me-” Oleg rasped.

“It’s fine.”Sergey growled through clenched teeth, concentrating harder on collecting the scattered glass. Oleg exhaled, shifting his glance to the floor again. He gripped Sergey’s free hand, forcing him to look up. Sergey stared at the man, suddenly desperate to take in every curve and angle of Oleg’s face, desperate to remember all of it. Afraid that in a few seconds he might forget it too. His dark, understanding, impossibly trustworthy eyes, the sharp angles of his jaw, the straight line of his nose. The dark brown hair that became wavy when Oleg let it grow a little longer than usual.

“Leave those tricks to someone who doesn’t know you.” he didn’t raise his voice. Oleg had done it rarely with his normal voice, and now… well now Sergey would never have to worry who’d win a screaming contest again. “You know they don’t work on me anymore.” he didn’t let Sergey’s hand go. He waited in silence.

“Fine.” Sergey conceded, dropping his gaze. “Oleg, I-” he stopped, then closed and opened his mouth again. “I can’t remember-” he closed his eyes. Saying it out loud made it so much worse in those first moments. It meant Sergey was admitting to his defeat. He felt Oleg’s hand on his cheek. Clever bastard. Sergey blew out a shaky breath, meeting his lover’s gaze. He couldn’t resist Oleg’s touch and Oleg sure knew it. “The place. The name of our orphanage. I can’t even remember the names of our caretakers. How some of them looked.”

“Do you remember me when we were there?”

“I… I think so.” He could picture adolescent Oleg right now. His unruly hair, his careless grin. His body under Sergey’s fingers. Except the problem was, Sergey didn’t know how consistent with reality his image of younger Oleg was. He hoped it was accurate. But considering how much dope he’d been given through the years, how many inhabitants plagued his mind through the years, it was only a question of time when he would start to lose the true picture of the world. Yet Oleg kept asking him, kept forcing him to remember. Kept reminding him and piecing him back together.

“That’s a start.” He nodded. “Do you remember how you drew me?” Oleg gave Sergey a half-smile. “Leave the plates,” he said, standing straight, still gripping Sergey, getting him to his feet as well.

“Yes.” he said, as they sauntered toward the large grey couch in the living room. That was the first ‘yes’.

“Tell me then.”

“What if it wasn’t real?” Sergey swallowed, a wave of anxiety heaving inside him.

“Then I’ll tell you the real thing.” Oleg pulled him closer.

Oleg made everything simpler. Easier and more direct. Perhaps that was why they balanced each other so well; for every situation that Sergey loved to complicate, Oleg was there to offer something plain and elegant instead. Sergey leaned his head against his partner’s shoulder, taking in the musky scent.

“You smelled differently back then,” he murmured. Oleg let out a startled laugh.

“Well, my perfume is no longer the cheapest soap available I’m afraid.” he chuckled, as they landed on the couch, still in each others’ embrace. “Do you remember when you asked me to pose for the first time?”

“We...we were about to enter the last year of school.” Sergey wasn’t certain. Oleg nodded, giving him the reassurance that he needed. “It was late August. The sunset was… it was…” he couldn’t quite place the word.

“You called it theatrical,” Oleg’s smile widened, remembering the episode himself.

“Yes,” Sergey smiled back. “Theatrical, yes. The colors were too bright. Too surreal and yet…”

“Yet they were there.” Oleg stroked his cheek, sending a shiver down Sergey’s spine. “They were real. Still are. Like your memories.”

“You were being very shy.” Sergey smiled, remembering the tall, lithe teenager that sported the brightest blush Sergey could imagine when asked to pose as a model. “I couldn’t convince you till I offered-”

“You _had_ to remember that part didn’t you.” Oleg teased. Sergey grinned, a pleasant warmth spreading through his body. Oleg closed the distance between them, till their foreheads touched. He grazed Sergey’s lip with a soft, airy kiss before pulling away. “What else?”

He probably rambled most of the time. He couldn’t remember. The words, the meanings, they escaped him. But Oleg’s touch didn’t. It wasn’t a fleeting ghost-like sensation like the rest of the world had become to him; it was solid and constant and warm. And Sergey clung on to that refusing to let go, because if he had Oleg by his side now, he had to believe that somehow he’d gain his mind back under his control as well.


End file.
